In Reverse
by greenk
Summary: "This wasn't right. Everything was wrong." Takes place after Concentrate and Ask Again. Hinted and perhaps eventual Peter/Olivia. Rated T to be safe. Chapter 3 now up.
1. Chapter 1

I've been reading Fringe fanfics for years, and now I finally contribute one of my own. It's kind of short, but I think it could end up being more than just a oneshot. Tell me what you guys think. :)

The first chapter is from Olivia's point of view. This is just based on a little idea of mine after watching Concentrate and Ask Again. And this story takes place after Concentrate and Ask Again, so you know…spoilers.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fringe or the characters or really anything worth mentioning at all.

* * *

Her hands were shaking as she pounded down a shot of whiskey. She set it on the kitchen table and sauntered off to her surrogate bed of blankets on the living room couch, pondering the exact point of time that everything in her life had gone to hell.

It wasn't like the note came as any big surprise. If she was being fully honest with herself, it only confirmed what she had known all along. But it wasn't just the note that made her fingers twitch and her hands quake and her head swarm. No, it was more than that.

Because quite lately, she'd noticed that things seemed a little…_off_. And tonight with her improved marksmanship…it scared her. She didn't want to believe that a part of her alternate still lurked in the inner crevices of her mind. But she still had memories and _feelings_, feelings that were unexplainable, like the feeling that if she woke up in the morning, she'd find Frank beside her in bed. And the even more frightening thing was that when she woke up on the couch alone, she almost felt…disappointed.

Perhaps a subconscious part of her brain longed for the life she could never have, a "better" life. And the more she drank, the more confused she got. For a fleeting moment, she debated picking up the phone and calling her mother. Then she remembered. The Olivia Dunham from _this_ side didn't have a mother.

Then came the tears.

* * *

She woke up perhaps a few hours later with her face planted into a tear stained pillow. _Where am I? Where is Frank?_

But those thoughts didn't belong to her. Breathing heavily, she turned her head to the window. It was still night time, or at the very least it was early morning. But she didn't care. She had to get out. She had to get help. She had to go see the Secretary. Her expression turned to one of horror. _Walter!_

This wasn't right. Everything was wrong. Walter was not the Secretary, her mother was dead, her sister was alive, she had a niece, and Charlie was gone. _Peter_…

Though, with a hint of bitterness, she noted that Peter was something that her alternate and she both had in common now.

She was out the door in minutes, car keys in hand, sprinting towards the FBI issued vehicle. And at the time, it didn't matter that it was freezing outside or that she'd forgotten to grab her coat. Her coat she didn't keep a gun in, she had to remind herself. Despite her panic, she was still able to buckle her seat belt and simultaneously pull out onto the street with one destination in mind.

* * *

She knocked on the door lightly, seeing as it _was_ 2 o'clock in the morning. Then, she debated calling their home phone before realizing that she might not even be able to remember the number. So she knocked again, more forcefully. Who would open the door? She briefly wondered how she looked standing on the porch, slightly inebriated and dizzyingly confused. Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps. She restrained herself from putting her ear against the door to listen and waited for the doorknob to turn. It twisted slowly, hesitantly, before revealing the man behind the door. It was Peter Bishop, shirtless, in all of his glory.

"Olivia?"

Peter Bishop, the Secretary's son. No, yes…sort of. She tried to get ahold of herself.

"Peter. Peter, I need…"

He eyed her curiously, concernedly, taking in her appearance. Circles under the eyes, sweats, no coat. He could already tell that something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong.

"I need," she began again, "to talk to Walter."

She didn't give him time to ask why because no sooner had she finished speaking when a sudden wave of nausea washed over her and she fell unconscious into her partner's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all for the positive response! And thanks to the many people that added this fanfic to their alerts. I'm not entirely sure where this story is headed, but you've all encouraged me to continue on. :)

And I'm sorry it took me a while to update. This installment has been half-written on my laptop for weeks now. But here it is! Better late than never? I hope it was worth the wait, and that you all enjoy.

This next chapter will be from Peter's point of view sort of. Maybe more omniscient. I have trouble staying in one point of view…in case you hadn't realized.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fringe. I do not own the characters from Fringe. I don't even own either of the Fringe season box sets much to my dismay.

* * *

When he saw her fall, it was like everything went into slow motion. Her eyes rolled, her head tipped back, her knees gave out. And then he was holding her, just barely holding on. Her legs were dragging the ground. And then time caught up.

His reaction was immediate.

"Walter!"

She wasn't too heavy, wasn't too light. She was perfect. But he didn't have the time to revel in the ethereal beauty that was Olivia Dunham given the current situation. He was able to get her to a couch before he heard Walter's bare feet padding into the living room.

"Son? Is everything all right? Oh my."

Walter stood watching in the doorway as his son took Olivia's pulse, elevated her legs, checked her breathing. "Why is Agent Dunham in our living room?"

"She passed out at the door, Walter. Said she needed to talk to you." his eyes narrowed as he looked at the older man's face.

"I can assure you, Peter," Walter said quickly, catching on to his son's suspicions, "I have no idea what's going on. How is her breathing?"

His gaze flickered down to the woman on her back with her feet propped up in the air and then back to Walter. "Normal if just a little shallow. Pulse is normal too."

"How intriguing." Walter bent down to look at her face before being shooed away by an overprotective hand.

"Get back, Walter. She needs air."

He watched as her breath became more hitched. And when a rivulet of blood began to trail from her nose and onto the couch, Peter went from barking orders at Walter to barking orders into the telephone. An ambulance was on the way.

"The nose bleed is most likely just a reaction to Agent Dunham's abnormal brain activity. She'll be fine." His voice took on a tone of panic. "She'll be fine."

"Go change, Walter. At least put some clothes on under that robe of yours." He knew he shouldn't have been so hard on Walter. After all, none of this could have been his fault. At least not directly, right? Like a guilty child caught stealing from a cookie jar, Walter slunk off to retrieve some appropriate clothing.

It took twelve minutes for the ambulance to arrive, and all the while Peter was mumbling curses under his breath. During his wait, he called Astrid and asked her if she could give Walter a ride to the hospital.

"Walter!" he hollered on his way out the door, "Stay put!" He climbed into the ambulance, and the doors slammed shut.

Soon enough, they were in a special wing of the hospital secured by Broyles, and he watched as they hooked her up to countless machines. The orderlies told him to remain calm. They told him not to worry.

"Don't worry, Mr. Bishop."

Like hell he wouldn't worry. Wasn't he just here some weeks ago, leaning over her hospital bed, waiting for her to wake up? And she woke up eventually. She always did. But how many times would this have to happen before her luck ran out? As cliché as it sounded in his head, he desperately wished that it was him in that hospital bed, hooked up to all the monitors instead of her.

But she seemed to be looking a little bit better now than back in the apartment despite the fact that the doctors had no idea what to make of her illness. That was nothing new. It wasn't as if Walter or he could explain to the doctors that Olivia's temporary comas were usually due to universe hopping. That wouldn't go over well…especially not with Broyles.

He sat there for hour after hour in silence. It gave him a lot of time to think about things. About Olivia, about the little family unit they had built together along with Walter and Astrid and even Broyles, about love and feelings and being tied down to one place for the first time in years because of them, and about the woman who had brought it all crashing down.

He'd mentally catalogued the differences between the two women. Delving into the list of changes that he'd brushed aside made him realize how stupid he'd been. And frankly made him feel like a selfish, egotistical ass. Yes, that too.

She was quicker with a smile. She laughed more. And at times, she practically radiated ease and self-confidence. Her eyes weren't as burdened, weren't as _haunted_. Knowing the truth now, he could look back and pick out more changes. Her hair was dyed a few shades too light, and she wore it down a lot more often. She took her coffee with cream instead of black with two sugars. She struggled to remember numbers and small details about cases, things that Olivia would have remembered. She thought Ronald Regan played in Casablanca and her sudden interest in _U2 _of all things…it was so glaringly obvious.

And then, every once in a while, he'd catch her doing this thing when she was surprised or just being cocky. Her mouth would turn up into a smirk. Her eyes would light up. And then her eyeb-

His inner musings were interrupted by the movement of the hospital sheets in front of him, or rather the body of the agent under the sheets. His breath hitched as his eyes travelled upwards past her twitching legs and to her grimacing face. He grasped her hand.

"Olivia, can you hear me?" He squeezed ever so gently and began to brush his thumb over the stretched skin on her knuckles as she began to grip the bed sheets in panic or in pain. He couldn't tell. But then, her heart monitor began to beep frantically, and he quickly pressed the alert button on the side of the bed to notify the nurses.

Her eyes shot open, but they were glazed over as she stared at the ceiling or perhaps somewhere beyond, breathing heavily. This wasn't normal. She usually regained awareness sooner after waking up than this. And where were the damn nurses? He pressed the button again.

Olivia was in a daze. Her eyes looked unseeingly back and forth across the plaster, and then her head tilted ever so slightly. He watched intently as her bewildered brown-green orbs passed over the wall decals, the window sill, the hospital tray, and then him. She began to blink furiously until the fog in her eyes cleared away.

"Sweetheart?" he sighed in mixed relief and confusion.

And there it was…the telltale sign. The very thing he'd overlooked. Her mouth turned up into a surprised, yet bemused half smirk. Her eyes lit up. And then her eyebrow rose questioningly, ever so daringly.

His heart thumped at a wild rhythm, and terror crept over his entire being. It shouldn't be. How could it be? But then she spoke, and he began to drown in emotion. Pain, guilt, sorrow, fear.

"Peter Bishop? The Secretary's son?"


	3. Chapter 3

I am so very sorry for the delayed chapter! I had planned to update during the one week hiatus between 'Subject 13' and 'Os.' As you can see, things didn't quite work out. And now it's midnight, and I'm rewriting my author's note. Anyhow…

WOW. I was completely overwhelmed by the response for this last chapter. I had five reviews in my inbox within the hour or so after posting and seven reviews by the end of the day. And I didn't even remember to ask for any. Your responding means a lot to me and is much appreciated. So thanks, guys. :)

So here we are, Chapter 3. It's another one from a Peter/omniscient POV. I hope you all enjoy. And if you do feel so inclined, please do review. I hate to say it, but sometimes it does give me a little push in the right direction. A little motivation if you will. But I don't want to sound greedy. Perhaps it's best to just stop while I'm ahead.

**DISCLAIMER: **If I owned Fringe, you wouldn't be watching.

* * *

She looked so damn confused, it nearly broke his heart. He had to get out, he needed to leave. And now he was standing in the cold, dim hallway with Walter to his left. They mirrored each other, watching through the hospital window. It was all too quiet for his liking.

"What exactly do you propose we do, Walter?" Peter scowled, using the angry tone to mask the terror in his voice. "How could this have happened?"

Walter refused to meet his eyes and instead focused his attention on the woman in the hospital who was currently examining the blond tresses of her hair as if they were strange, foreign objects. And Peter supposed that to her mind right now, they were.

"Walter, tell me what's going on."

The tense silence stretched for a few uncomfortable seconds more before his father began ever so gently, "Son…how much did Agent Dunham tell you about the events that occurred while she was trapped in the alternate universe?"

He sighed, running a hand through his already tousled hair. "Well, we haven't exactly been on the best speaking terms these past few weeks." He failed to keep the bark out of his voice. "I skimmed over her brief. I know that she was brainwashed into believing that she was her alternate." _Damn_, reading that had really thrown him for a loop. It was just as he thought he couldn't possibly feel any _guiltier_.

"But she was not just brainwashed, Peter." Walter's widened and his hands went into familiar, wild gestures. "Fauxlivia's memories were _implanted_ into her mind. Now, miraculously, Agent Dunham was able to overcome the memories and regain her own, but how this was possible is still a mystery to me."

Of course she was able to do so. She was really a living, breathing phenomenon. He'd heard the gist of that information, but not directly from Olivia. He paused to wonder about when she had become so chummy with Walter. "So we're talking some sort of relapse?"

Walter shook his head. "It might not be that simple, I'm afraid. If Olivia was able to overpower the memories against all odds before, it seems quite odd that they'd resurface again…to this extent."

It was time to speak his innermost fear. "And there's no way that this could be another trick? That this isn't their Olivia coming to pull the proverbial wool over our eyes for a second time?" Deep down, he already knew the answer to that question.

It was too late anyway. Walter was already walking away, afraid to answer any more inquiries; inquiries that sounded suspiciously like accusations. He let out a breath and turned back to the window to discover that Olivia was now the one observing him, inspecting him. She noticed that he'd caught her staring, but she didn't look away. She held his gaze with unmatched confidence. The Olivia Dunham he'd known for nearly three years was nowhere to be found. What remained was just a shell, housing a soul that could never belong.

In mere moments, he was on the opposite side of the window once again, easing the door shut with a gentle _click_. He couldn't will himself to go any farther and leaned back into the door pane with an anxious sigh. Suddenly, her irritated voice cut through the uneasy silence and straight through his heart like a jagged blade.

"What the _hell_?"

Peter couldn't find his voice to answer her. Besides, what could he answer? It's not likely that she would believe him even if he did tell her truthfully what had happened. Of course, he wouldn't blame her. Despite having spent years of his life as a con man, he couldn't remember experiencing a situation that was as uncomfortable as this. Not even in those moments where he had a gun placed to his temple and a gang of thugs surrounding did he feel so unsure. No, this was a whole 'nother kind of torture.

"_Bishop_, what the hell is this?" She spit out his name like it was the dirtiest kind of curse word. Although her tone was full of fire, her green eyes were icy as if windows into a frozen soul.

She'd put on such a cool façade. The shock of her words was like a smack in the face. It would have hurt more had he not already been struggling to hold the bloody halves of his heart together. The Olivia Dunham he'd spent the last several years with was a lot of things, but never cold. She couldn't put on such a steely defense. She was too…damaged. Not fragile or weak, just…haunted. He recalled that was the word he'd used to describe her to her alternate back then. He'd been such a fool.

"They'll find me, you know, my partners. Might as well face the inevitable and start giving me some answers."

He looked at her, hoping to convey his bare-naked honesty, "And what if I don't know the answers?"

She gave an exasperated sigh. The ice in her eyes seemed to thaw a bit to his relief. Was he relieved? Maybe that wasn't the right word. Perhaps 'slightly less discomforted' would be more appropriate. Her voice once again broke through his inner musings, "How about a location then?"

Ah, simple enough. He conceded. "Massachusetts General." He could sense another unasked query blooming. "You fainted…went into a coma, actually."

"And you were involved in this because…?"

This is where things would start to get complicated. "Please," he started unsurely, "Give me a few minutes to formulate an appropriate response to that question."

"An appropriate response?" she suspiciously shot back, "Or an appropriate lie?"

Peter let out a dark chuckle. It was instinctive, really. He couldn't stop the incoming retort. "Since when has a lie ever been considered _appropriate_?"

Her shadowy tone of voice matched his. "I don't know, Mr. Bishop. You tell me."

He was beginning to see, now, why Olivia's alternate and he had gotten along so well together. They were so very alike in some natures. Their relationship was easy, predictable. But he didn't want easy, Peter reminded himself. He wanted Olivia back. No one deserved this, least of all her. _Whatever it takes,_ a more primal, protective voice in his head growled.

"You'd never believe the truth," he admitted. There was the eyebrow raise again. Good Lord, he was never going to get anywhere with her.

"Try me."

* * *

Thanks for reading! And once again, sorry for the length of time between this chapter and my last update. In a perfect world, this story would be completed before the season finale. No promises, but I will have some extra free time now that Spring Break is upon us.

Don't forget to review on your way out. Please? Olivia implores you with the power of ten thousand toasts.


End file.
